A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 

BY  * 

CLARENCE  THOMAS  URMY 

AUTHOR  OF 

A  ROSARY  OF  RHYME 
A  WREATH  OF  CALIFORNIA  LAUREL 

A  VINTAGE  OF  VERSE 
UNDER  THE  TO  YON  TREE 

(IN  PREPARATION) 


My  lute  on  lifted  hands 

I  hold 

Andpray  this  prayer: 
Tune  Thou  the  strings, 

let  them  unfold 
Thy  mercy,  love  and 

care, 
And  let  it  now  and  ever 

be 
An  instrument  that 

pleases  Thee. 


SAN  FRANCISCO 

A.  M.  ROBERTSON 
1912 


The  verses  in  this  volume  originally  appeared  in 
Appletons,  The  Atlantic  Monthly,  The  Bookman, 
The  Century,  The  Cosmopolitan,  East  and  West, 
Everybody's,  Harper's  Bazar,  The  Independent, 
Lippincott's,  The  Munsey,  The  Outlook,  Peter 
son's,  Putnam's,   The  Reader,   The  Smart   Set, 
Sunset,  The  Times  Magazine,  Vogue,  and 
The  Youth's  Companion. 


Copyright,  1912 

by  A.  M.  Robertson 

San  Francisco 


Tri 

Taylor,  Nash  &  Taylor 
San  Francisco 


[iii] 

From  them  to  you,  how  great  the  span, 
When  measured  by  the  life  of  man ; 

From  you  to  them,  how  short  the  space, 
When  measured  by  your  verses'  grace  I 

Dead  are  the  Lovers,  dead  each  Dame  — 
Deathless  their  Songs,  enrolled  by  Fame  ! 

Of  Beauty  and  of  Love  they  sang, 
With  praise  of  Love  their  verses  rang, 

With  praise  of  Beauty  rang  their  verse, 
While  Lovers'  fealty  they  rehearse. 

And  you,  in  newer  word  and  phrase, 
The  same  sweet  themes  of  olden  days, 

The  worth  of  Beauty,  truth  of  Love, 
Love's  faith,  all  other  faith  above, 

In  newer  phrase  and  word  you  sing, — 
The  self-same  praises  of  the  Spring  — 

Spring  of  the  World,  Spring  of  the  Heart, 
That  Spring  whence  springs  all  truth  in  Art! 

So  may  some  song  of  yours  enshrine 
A  lambent  spark  of  fire  divine, 

To  kindle  newly  by  your  art 

The  flame  of  Spring-tide  in  the  heart  — 

You'll  not  have  lived  and  loved  in  vain 
If  one  dead  heart  shall  glow  again  ! 

R.  H.  P. 

Sonoma,  California, 

Christmas  Day,  Nineteen  Hundred  and  Ten. 


242447 


Contents 


Page 

Dedication iii 

Come.  Troubadours ...     1 

Blondel 2 

Wood-Wind 4 

The  Groves  of  Pan  ...  6 
Dreams  in  the  Redwoods  ! 

Loiterland 9 

A  Jewel  Song 12 

"One  Whose  Name  Was 

Writ  in  Water"  ...  13 
A  California  Song  ...  14 
A  California  River  ...  15 
To  Bliss  Carman  ...  16 
The  Trail  Beautiful  .  .  17 

The  Sleepless 20 

Forest  Couplets  ....  21 

Poetry 22 

Revealment 23 

By  the  Guadaloupe  .  .  24 
"I  Lay  My  Lute  Beside 

Thy  Door" 25 

Sword,  Go   Through   the 

Land 26 

The  Poet  Touch  ....  27 
To  Ina  Coolbrith  ...  28 
Friend  of  Mine  ....  30 

A  Roundelay 31 

Dream-Song 32 

The  Unattained  ....  33 
At  a  Wayside  Shrine  .  .  34 
The  Cameo-Cutter  ...  35 

Coronach 36 

A  Woodland  Revel  ...  38 
At  Santa  Cruz  .  .  .  .  40 
Beside  the  Western  Sea  .  41 
California  Skies  ....  43 
In  a  Cathedral  ....  44 
A  Casement  Canzonet .  .  45 
Mountain  Haze  ....  46 
Nectar 47 


Page 

The  Way  to  the  Violet  Hills  48 
The  Vanished  Voice  .  .  49 
An  Elfin  Skein  ....  50 
The  Golden  Legacy  .  .  52 
To  a  New  Acquaintance  .  53 

The  Necklace 54 

A  Lyric  for  a  Lute  ...  55 
A  Little  Love-Song  ...  56 
When  You  Come  Home  .  57 

Angel  Lore 58 

Lay •    .     .  59 

A  Pilgrim  Song  ....  60 
In  a  Mission  Garden  .  .  61 

In  a  Pergola 62 

A  Legend  of  the  Madonna  63 
A  Song  of  Far  and  Near  .  65 
How  Steep  the  Stairs  .  .  66 
Dream  Chimes  ....  67 

Rosemary 68 

The  Praise  of  Hope  .  .  69 
The  Evening  Star  ...  70 
The  Willow  Stream  .  .  71 
A  Rainbow  Fancy  ...  73 
Water,  Leaf  and  Wing  .  .  74 
A  Rhyme  Rose  ....  75 

Via  Crucis 76 

A  Day  of  Days  ....  77 
The  Golden  Age  ....  78 
Afternoon  Callers  ...  79 
A  California  Psalm  ...  80 
The  Things  That  Count  .  81 
The  Language  of  Love  .  82 
The  Singing  Wind  ...  83 
An  Old  Guitar  ....  84 
The  Unseen  Ships  ...  86 

At  Sunset 87 

A  Wedding  Song      ...  88 

Chansonnette 89 

The  Silhouette  City  .  .  90 
A  Signal  at  Sea  .  .  .  .  91 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[1] 
Come,  Troubadours 


Troubadours !  Come  sing  again 
To  the  heart  of  hearts  of  men ; 
Come  with  arms  heaped  full  of  roses, 
Wreath  and  garland  bright  with  posies, 
For  we  need  your  fragrant  lays 
In  these  dull  and  sordid  days. 

Troubadours !  Again  to  Earth 
Bring  love-music  and  love-mirth ; 
Sing  of  glance  and  smile  and  kisses, 
Lover's  vow  and  kindred  blisses, 
For  your  arts  and  wiles  we  need 
In  this  age  of  grind  and  greed. 

Troubadours !  Fair  fellowship, 
Sweet  of  lute  and  sweet  of  lip, 
Strike  the  love-cord  that  entices 
With  its  many  rare  devices, 
For  we  need  love-tunes  and  rhymes 
In  these  heartless,  faithless  times. 

Troubadours !  Come  sing  once  more 
Chaunt  and  lai  of  tender  lore ; 
Come  in  true,  old  minstrel  fashion, 
Heart  and  tongue  aflame  with  passion, 
Bringing  from  those  days  afar 
Once  again  "Z/e  Gai  Savoir"! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[2] 
Blondel 


Within  my  heart  I  long  have  kept 
A  little  chamber  cleanly  swept, 
Embroidered  with  a  fleur-de-lis, 
And  lintel  boughs  of  redwood  tree ; 
A  bed,  a  book,  a  crucifix, 
Two  little  copper  candlesticks 
With  tapers  ready  for  the  match 
The  moment  I  his  footfall  catch, 
That  when  in  thought  he  comes  to  me 
He  straightway  at  his  ease  may  be. 
This  guest  I  love  so  to  allure  — 
Blondel,  King  Richard's  troubadour ! 

He  often  comes,  but  sings  no  more 
(He  says  his  singing  days  are  o'er!); 
Still,  sweet  of  tongue  and  filled  with  tales 
Of  knights  and  ladies,  bowers  and  vales, 
He  caps  our  frugal  meal  with  talk 
Of  langue  d'oil  and  langue  d'oc,  . 

Of  Picardy  and  Aquitaine, 
Blanche  of  Castile  and  Charlemagne, 
Of  menestrel,  trouvere,  conteur, 
Mime,  histrion,  and  old  harpeur  — 
Small  wonder  that  I  love  him  well, 
King  Richard's  troubadour,  Blondel ! 

Still,  as  he  comes  at  candle-light 
And  goes  before  the  east  is  bright, 
I  have  no  heart  to  beg  him  keep 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[3] 

Late  hour  with  me  when  wooed  hy  sleep ; 
But  one  request  I  ever  make, 
And  ever  no  for  answer  take : 
He  will  not  make  the  secret  mine, 
What  song  he  sang  at  Durrenstein ! 
Sleep,  troubadour !   Enough  that  thou 
With  that  sweet  lay  didst  keep  thy  vow 
And  link  thy  name  hy  deathless  art 
With  Richard  of  the  Lion  Heart! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[4] 
Wood -Wind 

Hither,  Wood-wind,  lend  thy  lips 
Where  this  mountain  brooklet  slips 
Under  alder,  buckeye,  hay, 
Oaken  hough  and  willow  spray ; 
Lend  thy  lips,  and  let  the  tone 
Be  like  fairy  hugles  blown, 
Fairy  bugles  blown  afar 
In  the  Land  of  Evening  Star. 

Hither,  Wood-wind,  touch  thy  tongue 
To  the  flutes  with  garlands  hung; 
There  are  notes  that  only  thou 
Canst  awake  from  branch  and  bough, 
Notes  that  Pan  with  piping  sweet 
Charms  Terpsichore's  light  feet, 
Or  the  softer  notes  that  dwell 
Deep  in  Orpheus'  golden  shell. 

Hither,  Wood-wind,  horns  are  here, 
Elfin  horns  to  woodmen  dear, 
Hanging  at  the  ivory  door 
Of  each  spreading  sycamore ; 
Breathe  upon  these  alder  boughs 
And  thy  gentle  strains  shall  rouse 
Dreams  that  in  hushed  valleys  dwell, 
Crowned  with  wreaths  of  asphodel. 

Hither,  Wood-wind,  thou  dost  know 
Haunt  of  pebbly  piccolo, 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[5] 

And  the  cave  of  clarionet 

In  the  reeds  with  ripples  wet ; 

There  are  diapason  stops 

In  the  sky-tipped  redwood  tops ; 

Blow  thereon  and  we  shall  hear 

Music  of  a  primal  year ! 

Welcome,  "Wood-wind,  at  our  call ; 
Or  was  it  the  waterfall 
Or  a  falling  leaf's  low  cry 
That  didst  bid  thee  wander  by  ? 
Breathe  and  blow  and  drive  away 
All  the  care  and  fret  of  day, 
While  the  pine  trees'  soft  bassoon 
Murmurs  magic  to  the  moon. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[6] 
The  Groves  of  Pan 

Take  my  hand,  and  we  will  stroll 

To  the  foot  of  yonder  knoll, 

Down  a  valley,  through  a  brake, 

By  a  lily-mantled  lake, 

O'er  a  meadow  Eden-fair, 

(  Pegasus  is  pastured  there ! ) 

Up  a  little  wooded  slope, 

Then  a  wicket  gate  we  ope ; 

In  this  dew  your  finger  dip, 

And  unseen  we  then  shall  slip 

Down  this  willow-bowered  wynd, 

Through  this  coppice,  fir-confined. 

Now  step  softly  as  you  can : 

We  have  reached  the  Groves  of  Pan  ! 

Oh,  the  beauty  of  the  breeze 

In  the  leafy  laurel  trees, 

And  the  rhymes  when  down  the  glade 

Branch  and  bough  are  zephyr-swayed ! 

List  the  rhythmic,  quiet  call 

Of  the  woodland  waterfall, 

And  the  strophe  of  the  streams  — 

Melody  adrift  in  dreams ! 

From  a  covert,  cool  and  dim, 

Floats  an  elfin  morning  hymn. 

Hark !  Three  nymphs  in  dalliance  met 

Trill  a  tuneful  triolet. 

Hush !  A  dryad  and  a  faun 

Sing  a  duo  to  the  dawn. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[7] 

Now  comes  Pan,  his  syrinx  set 
To  a  joyous  canzonet, 
All  his  court,  a  jocund  train, 
Joining  in  the  glad  refrain  ; 
Every  insect,  hee  and  bird 
In  the  perfect  cadence  heard  ; 
Every  tree  in  every  grove 
Bowing  at  the  name  of  Jove  ! 
To  some  sylvan  temple  bound 
Moves  the  train  with  choral  sound  ; 
On  from  grove  to  grove  they  wend 
Till  with  dusk  and  dark  they  blend. 


Let  us  seek  the  haunts  of  man  ; 
Farewell  to  the  Groves  of  Pan  ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[8] 
Dreams  in  the  Redwoods 

When  early  stars  down  twilight  pathways  rove, 
And  deep-set,  leaf-set  canyon  streamlets  croon 
Their  canticles  unto  the  crescent  moon, 

What  rare  enchantment  fills  this  redwood  grove ! 

Gone  is  the  net  of  care  that  Daylight  wove, 
The  toil  and  weariness  of  afternoon, 
And  up  from  crimson  sea  and  rose  lagoon 

Night  drives  her  dreams,  a  misty,  drowsy  drove. 

These  redwood  dreams !   The  silver  Mission  bells, 
The  footprints  of  the  Padres,  fading  fast, 

The  sails  adventurous  that  decked  the  shore  ; 
Then  on  and  on  into  the  purple  past 

Where  redwood  after  redwood  softly  tells 
Mysterious  tales  of  immemorial  lore  ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[9] 
Loiterland 

Take  the  road  that  sharply  turns 
To  the  right  at  Point  of  Ferns, 
Then  straight  on  until  you  see 
On  a  hough  of  laurel  tree : 
Linger  Lane,  foot-path,  no  freight ; 
Traveler,  please  close  the  gate. 
Ope  the  portal;  lo,  you  stand 
On  the  edge  of  Loiterland ! 

Oh,  the  song  and  shade  and  scent 
In  one  benediction  hlent, 
Here  where  earth  and  air  are  rife 
With  alluring  Eden-life ! 
Vision  vouchsafed  hut  to  those 
Walking  where  the  sunset  rose 
Strews  its  leaves  of  gold  and  red 
O'er  a  land  with  dreams  bespread ! 

Let  us  first  all  grief  assuage 
At  the  Halcyon  Hermitage, 
Drinking  luscious  hydromel 
From  a  sylvan,  moss-grown  well ; 
Nothing  now  our  course  deters  — 
Bird  and  wind  for  couriers, 
Milestones  writ  in  fairy  script, 
Vocal  guide-posts,  elfin-lipped ! 

Shall  we  wander  down  this  road 
To  the  Vale  of  Calm  Abode, 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[10] 

Or  to  Fancy's  Cottage,  caught 

In  a  net  of  roses  wrought  ? 

Where  those  purple  hillocks  rise 

Honeysuckle  Hollow  lies, 

Close  where  Sleep  her  scepter  wields 

Over  Day-dream  Poppy-fields. 

If  you  cross  this  vineyard  crest 

You  will  come  to  Roamer's  Rest ; 

Then 't  is  but  a  step  or  so 

To  the  Drowsy  Bungalow ; 

Clover  Croft  is  just  behind 

Oaken  boughs  with  moss  entwined, 

And  the  inn  called  Heart's-ease  stands 

Where  the  grove  and  brook  clasp  hands. 

Listen !  Was  that  music  ?  Hark ! 
Fountains  talking  in  the  dark, 
In  the  dark  of  spruce  and  fir, 
Dreams  for  their  interpreter ; 
Rills  along  the  roadside  run 
Seemingly  of  silver  spun, 
Spun  of  silver  in  whose  net 
Emerald  and  sard  are  set. 

Here  a  canyon,  lily-lit, 
Stately  redwoods  arching  it, 
Woos  with  stream-sung  serenade 
On  to  dimmer,  deeper  shade ; 
Winds  that  down  this  valley  veer 
Whisper,  "  Lotusland  is  near ! " 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[11] 

Is  that  ocean,  sea  or  lake 

Gleaming  through  yon  bank  of  brake  ? 

Lo,  on  Dreamland's  coast  we  stand ! 
White-sailed  ports  on  every  hand ; 
See,  a  shallop  trimmed  with  flowers 
Waits  that  we  may  call  it  ours ! 
Let  us  quickly  step  aboard, 
Sailing  softly  twilightward, 
Seeking  o'er  celestial  seas 
Gardens  of  Hesperides ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[12] 
A  Jewel  Song 

Three  gems  upon  a  golden  chain 

I  ever  keep, 
Clasped  'round  my  neck  in  joy,  in  pain, 

Awake,  asleep. 

The  red  of  flame,  the  green  of  Spring, 

The  white  of  tears 
Glow,  gleam  and  sparkle  on  my  string 

Of  golden  years. 

The  ruby  of  the  Present,  bright, 

Of  value  vast, 
The  Future's  emerald,  and  the  white 

Pearl  of  the  Past. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[13] 
"One  Whose  Name  Was  Writ  in  Water" 

(February  23, 1 821) 

M  Writ  in  water" — yea,  in  all  the  springs 
That  bubble  into  birth  with  murmurings 
Strange,  untranslatable,  of  darks  and  deeps 
Where  Lamia  her  serpent-vigil  keeps. 

"  Writ  in  water  " —  yea,  in  all  the  brooks 
Along  whose  banks,  with  bosom-clasped  books, 
Rapt  poets,  young  and  old,  with  faces  wan 
Seek  further  word  of  lost  Hyperion. 

w  Writ  in  water  " —  yea,  in  lake  and  sea 
Where  e'er  the  mirrored  moon  may  chance  to  be, 
Fond  dreamers  find  their  sweetest  solace  there 
Along  the  path  Endymion  made  fair. 

"  Writ  in  water  " —  yea,  in  ocean's  breast, 
In  every  azure  billow's  foam-tipped  crest  — 
In  every  bubble,  ripple,  fountain,  wave, 
Thy  name  in  water  written,  cheats  the  grave. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[14] 
A  California  Song 

I  come  to  you  with  a  gift  in  my  hand, 

A  flower  that  grew  in  a  golden  land, 

A  land  on  whose  head  is  a  poppy  crown 

And  the  scent  of  the  blossoms  is  wafted  down 

To  the  amber  bay  and  the  topaz  sea 

And  the  sun-god's  grave  by  the  cocoa  tree. 

I  come  to  you  with  a  flower  whose  face 
Is  the  zenith  of  beauty,  the  acme  of  grace ; 
There  are  dreams  in  its  eyes,  and  the  song  on  its 

lips 

Is  the  lullaby  song  of  the  shadow  that  slips 
O'er  the  tall  purple  mountain  that  watches  like 

Fate 
The  silver  sails  threading  the  fair  Golden  Gate. 

I  come  to  you  with  a  flower  whose  breath 
Brings  freedom  from  fear  of  disaster  and  death, 
For  though  El  Dorado  be  blackened,  and  rock 
Through  the  demon  of  fire  and  the  earthquake 

shock, 
There  is  peace  in  the  hearts  of  her  children  who 

know 
The  scent  of  the  fields  where  the  poppies  grow. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[15] 
A  California  River 

This  is  the  Yuba  River,  filled  with  tales 
Of  camp  and  cabin,  Argonauts  and  gold, 
With  dear  romance  of  fir-set  mountain  trails. 

What  wondrous  legends  might  thy  lips  unfold, 
If  but  our  eager  ears  were  rightly  tuned 
To  nature's  rhapsody  by  thee  outrolled ! 

And  yet  thy  liquid  lyric,  rhymed  and  runed 
Among  the  rocks  that  guard  thy  yellow  bed, 
By  echo  in  my  heart  is  softly  crooned, 

And  seaward  on  thy  bosom,  fancy  led, 

Through  canyons  calm  and  cool  I  downward  float 

To  vales  with  poppy  gardens  richly  spread, 

Still  on  and  on  in  slumber's  dream-set  boat, 
O'er  seas  of  bygone  years,  and  ever  in  mine  ears 
The  mellow  music  of  thy  golden  throat ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[16] 
To  Bliss  Carman 

From  Vagabondian  ports  a  barque 

Sailed  up  the  Sunset  Sea, 
And  just  as  daylight  dawned  from  dark 

A  voice  called  out  to  me : 
w  Ho,  Brother !  May  I  moor  my  ark 

Here  at  your  Redwood  Tree  ?  " 

Across  the  poppy  fields  I  flung 
My  welcome  down  the  shore  ; 

Oh,  how  I  longed  for  tuneful  tongue, 
For  lay  of  Lydian  lore, 

For  harp  with  strings  of  silver  strung 
My  greeting  to  outpour  — 

"  Thrice  welcome,  Vagabondian  Bard, 

Thou  Modern  Mariner, 
From  haunts  with  Golden  Rowan  starred, 

Pan  Pipes  and  Dulcimer, 
With  Gamelbar  the  battle-scarred  — 

Hail,  Heart's  Interpreter ! " 


With  what  delight  I  backward  look 

Upon  that  golden  day 
When  for  brief  moments  one  forsook 

The  Low  Tide  on  Grand  Pre, 
And  bode  with  me  and  Bough  and  Book 

In  rose-wreathed  San  Jose. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[17] 
The  Trail  Beautiful 

Here  starts  the  trail  — 

This  redwood  tree  — 
Walk  down  the  cool 

Dim  depths  with  me ; 
No  need  of  guide, 

We  much  prefer 
A  butterfly 

For  courier ! 
And  if  the  path 

Should  prove  obscure 
We  have  the  brook 

For  troubadour 
To  lead  and  lure 

With  singing  sweet 
Back  to  the  trail 

Our  straying  feet. 
Is  that  the  wind 

Among  the  trees, 
Or  sounding  of 

Pacific  seas  ? 
Again,  again, 

Ah,  't  is  the  sea, 
And,  troubadour, 

It  calls  to  thee ! 
Down,  down  we  stray, 

The  woods  grow  dense, 
The  air  is  rife 

With  frankincense, 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[18] 

The  odor  sweet 

Of  fir  and  pine, 
For  weary  hearts 

The  anodyne ! 
Here 's  eglantine, 

And  through  the  grass 
I  think  I  saw 

A  pixy  pass  — 
A  shadow?   No, 

I  felt  his  wings  — 
Hark!   Is  it  he 

Who  softly  sings 
Far  up  the  hill 

Where  purple  haze 
Hints  at  the  home 

Of  sprites  and  fays  ? 
An  upland  slope, 

Then  down  again 
Where  lilies  light 

A  dusky  glen ; 
Now  straightway  out 

Into  the  sun, 
Then  into  shade 

Where,  one  hy  one, 
Day-dreams  entwine 

A  filmy  veil 
That  dims  the  wood 

And  blurs  the  trail  — 

#         *         *         * 
Far  up  the  hill 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[19] 

Is  that  a  star 
That  beckons  us 

Afar,  afar  ? 
Come !  Back  along 

The  trail  where  now 
The  moon  peers  through 

Still  branch  and  bough; 
Up,  up  we  climb 

Unto  the  crest 
That  cradles  home 

And  sleep  and  rest ; 
Draw,  troubadour, 

Dreams  from  the  sky, 
Trail  Beautiful 

Good  night,  good-bye ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[20] 
The  Sleepless 

The  woods  at  night  for  sleep  were  fain ; 
The  Wind  crept  down  each  leafy  lane 

And  sang  a  lullaby ; 

First  trunk  and  branch,  then  bough  and  spray, 
Then  lastly  leaf,  in  slumber  lay  — 

The  Wind  paused  with  a  sigh. 

For  Oh,  my  heart  was  fain  for  sleep ! 
I  felt  the  Wood-wind  closer  creep 

And  o'er  my  pillow  stray ; 
Fear,  Pain  and  Care  with  peace  were  filled, 
But  Memory  would  not  be  stilled, 

And  sobbed  till  dawn  of  day. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[21] 
Forest  Couplets 

Beneath  a  redwood  let  me  lie 
And  all  its  harmonies  untie : 

Melodic  sequences  of  spray 

And  bough  and  trunk  in  rich  array ; 

Chromatic  hue  and  tint  and  shade 
Of  beryl,  emerald  and  jade ; 

Cadenzas,  day-dreams  that  enfold 
The  padres,  argonauts  and  gold ; 

Soft  passing  notes,  the  tones  that  tell 
Of  poppy-field  and  mission  bell ; 

With  sea-wind  cadences  that  blow 
In  dominant  arpeggio, 

Resolving  into  chords  full  blent 
Of  solace,  peace,  and  calm  content. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[22] 
Poetry 

Call  not  by  name  of  Poetry  the  verse 

That  neither  soothes  men's  worldly  pains  and 

cares 
Nor  lifts  the  thoughts  of  men  by  golden  stairs 

To  starry  thrones ;  a  name  so  high,  so  terse, 

Should  never  join  a  blessing  and  a  curse, 
Nor  give  to  idle  songs  and  vulgar  airs 
The  christening  we  give  to  praise  and  prayers 

That  laureled  poets  on  their  harps  rehearse. 

But  call  by  name  of  Poetry  the  lines 

That  show  us  stars  where  scarcely  stars  belong, 

That  grow  us  golden  fruit  on  barren  vines, 
That  fill  deep  silences  with  deeper  song, 

And  grant  us  glimpses  of  the  worlds  that  lie 

Beyond  the  reach  of  human  ear  and  eye. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[23] 
Revealment 

Let  me  tell  how  rhythm  with  its  rime  should  flow 
As  the  laugh  of  leaves  when  soft  zephyrs  blow, 
As  the  waves  with  gracile  hand 
Write  their  names  upon  the  sand. 

Let  me  tell  how  music  with  its  verse  should  mate ; 
As  the  dark  with  dawn,  rapt,  inviolate, 
As  the  soil  and  sun  disclose 
Sweet  communion  in  a  rose. 

Let  me  tell  how  fancy  from  the  heart  should  leap  : 
As  the  cloud  full-fraught  rises  from  the  deep, 
As  the  Spring  at  God's  hehest 
Wakes,  and,  lo,  the  world  is  hlest ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[24] 
By  the  Guadaloupe 

From  happy  haunts  in  hills  afar, 
The  sparkling  water  dances, 

Attuned  to  song  and  gay  guitar 
Of  olden-day  romances. 

A  caballero's  serenade, 

A  sehoritas  laughter, 
With  gleams  of  chillies  fair  arrayed 

On  smoky  wall  and  rafter. 

Beneath  this  turquoise-tinted  sky, 
Here  in  this  green  pavilion, 

At  peace  with  all  the  world  I  lie 
Enwrapped  in  dreams  Castilian ; 

Blue  lie  the  hills  of  Santa  Cruz ; 

Low  in  the  sky  hangs  Hesper ; 
And  Santa  Clara's  hells  diffuse 

The  holy  balm  of  vesper. 

It  falls  on  dreamful  eye  and  ear, 
Bids  care  depart  and  bliss  come ; 

A  ghostly  padre  passes  near  — 
How  sweet  his  ffPax  vobiscum !  " 


; 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[25] 
I  Lay  My  Lute  Beside  Thy  Door" 

What  was  it  Colin  gave  to  thee  ?  — 
A  blossom  from  the  hawthorn  tree  ? 
A  flower  of  song  is  all  I  own, 
A  little  dreamland  rose,  half  blown. 
Oh,  deck  thy  tresses,  I  implore  — 
I  lay  my  lute  beside  thy  door ! 

What  was  it  Damon  sent  to  thee  ?  — 
A  gleaming  pearl  from  Eastern  sea  ? 
A  gem  of  song  is  all  I  own, 
A  tiny,  glistening,  tear-stained  stone. 
Oh,  wrear  it — 'twill  my  peace  restore  — 
I  lay  my  lute  beside  thy  door ! 

What  was  it  Lubin  brought  to  thee?  — 

A  falcon  from  the  dewy  lea  ? 

A  bird  of  song  is  all  I  own, 

And  to  thy  heart  it  now  has  flown. 

Oh,  cage  it,  let  it  roam  no  more  — 

I  lay  my  lute  beside  thy  door ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[26] 
Sword,  Go  Through  the  Land ! 

Sword,  go  through  the  land  and  slay 
Guile  and  Hate,  Revenge,  Dismay ! 
Now  where  is  such  a  sword,  you  say  ? 

Sword,  go  through  the  land,  but  spare 
Love  and  Hope  and  Peace  and  Prayer ! 
Now  who,  you  ask,  that  sword  shall  bear  ? 

Sword,  go  through  the  land,  and  youth, 
Prime  and  age  shall  cry :  "  Forsooth, 
How  mighty  is  the  sword  called  Truth !  " 


A  CALIFORNIA 

TROUBADOUR 

I 1 

[27] 
The  Poet-Touch 


What  is  the  poet-touch  ?   Ah  me,  that  every 

bard  might  gain  it, 
And  having  once  attained  the  prize,  forever 

might  retain  it :  — 
To  touch  no  thing  that  9s  vile,  unless  to  teach 

the  world  to  scorn  it, 
To  touch  no  thing  that 's  beautiful,  save  only 

to  adorn  it ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[28] 
To  Ina  Coolbrith 

Poppy  Fields,  what  shall  I  say  ? 
w  Tell  her  of  our  love,  alway ; 
Tell  her  that  our  huds  unfold 
More  of  grace  and  more  of  gold 
Since  her  singing  chanced  to  stray 
O'er  this  land  with  blossoms  gay." 

Redwood  Groves,  what  shall  I  say  ? 
"  Tell  her  of  our  love,  alway ; 
Of  a  primal  love  sincere 
Whereby  we  her  name  revere, 
Teaching  it  to  sprite  and  fay 
And  to  tender,  new-born  spray." 

Western  Winds,  what  shall  I  say  ? 
"  Tell  her  of  our  love,  alway ; 
Tell  her  how  we  bear  afar 
Songs  of  hers  from  star  to  star, 
Where  they  sweep  and  swing  and  sway 
Till  the  angels  homage  pay." 

Sun-down  Seas,  what  shall  I  say  ? 
"  Tell  her  of  our  love,  alway ; 
Tell  how  Wave  and  Shore  desire 
Speech  like  that  of  her  fond  lyre. 
How  they  fain  would  learn  one  lay 
That  her  golden  strings  convey." 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[29] 

Sunset  Skies,  what  shall  I  say? 
"Tell  her  of  our  love,  alway ; 
Tell  her  of  the  peace  that  lies 
Far  heyond  all  earthly  skies, 
Peace  that  shall  he  hers  for  aye 
When  shall  dawn  that  Perfect  Day. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[30] 
Friend  of  Mine 

You  have  bound  yourself  so  closely  round  my 
heart, 

Friend  of  mine, 
That  it  seems  as  if  our  paths  could  never  part, 

Friend  of  mine ! 
Oft  the  vine  forsakes  the  wall, 
Stars  have  e'en  been  known  to  fall  — 
You  are  not  like  star  or  vine, 
Friend  of  mine ! 

YOH  have  played  upon  the  lute-strings  of  my  soul, 

Friend  of  mine, 
Singing  blissful  songs  that  through  my  being  roll, 

Friend  of  mine ; 
There  are  silences  somewhere, 
Songless  lips  of  mute  despair  — 
Sing  for  aye  your  song  divine, 
Friend  of  mine ! 

You  have  decked  my  life  with  roses  red  as  flame, 

Friend  of  mine, 
And  of  Paradise  made  more  than  just  a  name, 

Friend  of  mine; 

Flowers  fade,  their  perfume  dies, 
Visions  pass  from  watching  eyes, 
But  in  heaven  our  roses  shine, 
Friend  of  mine ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[31] 
A  Roundelay 

Come,  stroll  down  this  lane  with  me, 
Weave  a  bright  chain  with  me, 
And  sing  a  sweet  strain  with  me, 

Over  and  over ; 

Love's  harp  is  in  tune  with  us, 
Now  it  is  June  with  us, 
And  joy  is  triune  with  us, 

Joy,  the  young  rover ! 

No  telling  what  Time  may  bring, 
What  a  new  rhyme  may  bring ! 
For  Fate  from  far  clime  may  bring 

Sad  call  to  sever ; 
The  harp  may  be  strung  again, 
Songs  may  be  sung  again, 
But  we  shall  be  young  again  — 

Never,  ah,  never ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[32] 
Dream -Song 

Magic  perfume  of  a  rose 
That  in  Allah's  garden  grows. 

Pale,  pale  light  by  Cynthia  set 
Deep  in  Twilight's  coronet. 

Angel  music,  reed  and  string, 
Through  the  starlight  quavering. 

Music,  perfume,  light  enshrine 
Thee  in  every  dream  of  mine. 

May  this  little  dream-song  be 
Music,  perfume,  light  to  thee  ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[33] 
The  Unattained 

Like  some  rapt  Poet,  hand-clasped  with  Desire, 

Pacing  through  dew  and  dark, 
If  haply  he  may  learn  upon  his  lyre 

The  lyric  of  a  lark  — 

So  I,  hand-clasped  with  Dreams,  oft-times  afar 
Through  spheres  celestial  stroll, 

If  haply  I  may  reach  the  certain  star, 
Where  dwells  Her  sainted  soul. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[34] 
At  a  Wayside  Shrine 

Fair  shrine  of  Mary !   What  sweet  lure,  I  wonder, 
Has  led  me  to  this  leaf-embroidered  glen, 

As  with  unfettered  feet  I  sought  to  sunder 
My  soul  and  body  from  the  haunts  of  men  ? 

I  say  the  sweet "  Hail  Mary  ";  never  dearer 

Have  Gabriel's  tender  words  seemed  to  my  soul, 

For  something  in  this  spot  has  made  them  clearer 
And  marks  a  golden  milestone  toward  life's  goal. 

The  checkered  shine  and  shade  through  branches 
drifting, 

The  new-born  birds  that  strive  so  hard  to  sing, 
The  ffPax  Vobiscum  "  of  the  breeze  uplifting 

The  tendrils  of  the  baby  vines  of  Spring — 

The  fair  enfoldment  of  the  alders  bending 
(It  was  upon  a  tree  His  body  hung)  — 

And  with  it  all  ef Magnificat "  is  blending 
By  waters  of  the  brooklet  sweetly  sung. 

The  sun  behind  the  hill  is  slowly  creeping, 
Far  up  the  canyon  sounds  the  Angelus — 

Ring  on,  sweet  bell,  her  memory  sacred  keeping  — 
Oh,  sweet  and  blessed  Mother,  pray  for  us ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[35] 
The  Cameo-Cutter 

Worker  in  that  most  venerable  art 
So  much  esteemed  in  medieval  days, 
And  now  brought  forth  for  fresher,  brighter  bays, 

What  talismanic  dreams  must  crowd  thy  heart, 

Of  brilliant  booths  in  Greek  and  Roman  mart, 
Where  careful,  cunning  workmen  deftly  raise 
On  jasper,  onyx,  bloodstone,  chrysoprase, 

The  life  and  scenes  of  which  they  form  a  part. 

O  patient  lapidary !  in  the  stone 

What  wondrous  arabesques  of  shine  and  shade 
Abide  their  time  thy  tracing  to  adorn  — 

Imprisoned  beams,  perchance,  that  one  day  shone 
In  primal  Eden-bower,  glen  or  glade, 

Waiting  thy  touch  —  their  resurrection  morn ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[36] 
Coronach 

"Earth  to  earth" — then  let  it  be 
Something  that  was  dear  to  me, 
Earth  whose  fond  arms  guarded  well 
Some  great  giant  sentinel 
That  aloft  his  proud  head  rears, 
Warder  of  two  hemispheres  ! 
Earth  from  some  leaf-littered  aisle 
Dimly  stretching  mile  on  mile 
Through  dark  temples  where  naught  stirs 
Save  the  shy  wind-worshipers, 
Nymph  and  dryad,  faun  and  fay, 
And  a  poet,  far  astray ! 

"Ashes  to  ashes" — let  it  he 
Something  that  was  dear  to  me, 
Branch  and  bough  and  leaf  that  made 
By  the  road  a  pleasant  shade ; 
Manzanita,  fir  or  pine, 
Laurel,  with  its  leaf  divine. 
Build  the  fire  of  spruce  or  oak, 
Or  of  any  kindred  folk, 
Only  let  the  blaze  not  be 
Kindled  with  the  redwood  tree ; 
Sacred  be  those  columns  vast 
Of  the  immemorial  past ! 

"Dust  to  dust"— but  let  it  be 
Something  that  was  dear  to  me, 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[37] 

Dust  the  padres9  feet  have  pressed 
Following  their  high  hehest, 
Where  they  reared  the  sainted  shrine, 
Planted  olive  grove  and  vine ; 
Dust  within  whose  lifted  cloud 
Fantasies  and  visions  crowd  — 
Dreams  Castilian,  dreams  of  gold, 
Tales  of  Argonauts,  untold 
Save  at  night  by  starlit  breeze 
To  the  groves  of  redwood  trees ! 

Earth  from  redwood-darkened  trail, 
Dust  from  El  Camino  Real  — 
Ashes  of  a  mountain  tree, 
On  me  let  them  sprinkled  be. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[38] 
A  Woodland  Revel 

Hither,  Strephon,  Chloe,  Phyllis, 
Corydon  and  Amaryllis ; 
Hasten,  Lubin  and  Lysander, 
Daphne,  Colin,  and  Sylvander ; 
Come,  Jocunda,  Delia,  Doris, 
Let  us  dance  the  merry  morris ; 
Play  up,  pipers !   Bee  and  cricket, 
All  ye  minstrels  of  the  thicket, 
Tune  up,  strike  up  to  the  measure 
Of  the  golden  wand  of  pleasure ; 
Dance,  ye  rustics,  swain  and  yokel, 
Making  all  the  greenwood  vocal, 
Filling  joy's  glad  cup  completely, 
As  we  sing  and  foot  it  featly. 

Now  what  dear  delight  to  wander 
While  our  hearts  grow  fond  and  fonder, 
Breathing  incense,  balm,  and  spices, 
Gazing  on  the  fair  devices 
Arabesqued  by  shade  and  shimmer 
Through  the  tree-tops,  dim  and  dimmer ; 
Up  the  hill  and  down  the  hollow, 
Through  the  paths  deer  love  to  follow, 
With  a  bubbling  spring  for  ending 
Under  redwood  boughs  low-bending ; 
Filling  fardels  with  pomander 
Of  the  wildwood  oleander ; 
Laurel-wreaths  our  boughs  entwining, 
Love-light  in  our  eyes  soft  shining ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[39] 

Shepherds,  rest !   Ye  shepherdesses, 
Here  are  crispy  water-cresses, 
Ripe-red  berries  sunlight-basking, 
To  be  had  without  the  asking ; 
And  in  high  and  dim  seclusion 
Hazel-nuts  in  rare  profusion ; 
Nectar  from  a  fairy  fountain 
Hidden  in  a  misty  mountain, 
Spread  in  wondrous  rich  libation 
For  our  ease  and  delectation. 
See,  the  shadows  deeply  darting 
Bid  us  sing  a  song  of  parting; 
Hey  for  home !   Lo,  for  our  guiding 
Hesper  in  the  dusk  abiding ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[40] 
At  Santa  Cruz 

The  white  cliffs  wooed  me  and  I  slept 

Within  their  fond  embraces, 
Foam-flowers  wooed  the  moon  and  crept 

From  out  their  crystal  vases, 
Crept  not  so  near  *  *  *  crept  not  so  high  *  *  * 
We  were  alone  —  the  cliffs  and  I. 

The  mountain  hreeze  from  forest  lanes 
Brought  echoes,  piped  and  choral, 

From  dryads  hid  in  dark  domains 
Of  redwood,  fir  and  laurel  — 

'T  was  sweet  to  hear  the  drowsy  bay 

Croon  to  a  Pan-piped  virelay ! 

Calypso  called  me  to  her  cave 

Adown  the  shining  shingle, 
And  far  beyond  the  utmost  wave 

Where  moon  and  ocean  mingle 
I  heard  the  Lorelei,  and  felt 
Earth,  sea  and  sky  in  music  melt. 

A  boat  came  sailing  down  the  dark 

By  some  sweet  necromancy, 
Perchance  it  was  a  fairy  barque 

Bound  for  the  Isles  of  Fancy ; 
I  stepped  aboard  *  *  *  go  ask  some  star 
Just  where  those  Ports  of  Dreamland  are ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[41] 
Beside  the  Western  Sea 

From  some  faint  star  I  passed  to  earth, 

And  here  found  breath  and  mortal  birth 

In  land  that  lies  along  a  reach 

Of  rock-bound  coast  and  palm-bound  beach ; 

Pass  but  its  golden  threshold  —  lo ! 

A  spell  from  out  the  long  ago, 

Conceived  by  some  strange  sorcerer 

Who  captive  binds  each  voyager ; 

A  landscape  bright  and  Eden-fair, 

A  mighty  magic  in  the  air, 

With  names  that  sweetly  slide  and  slip 

Across  the  soft  Castilian  lip, 

And  bid  the  heart-strings  gently  stir 

Like  sound  of  lute  and  dulcimer  — 

This  was  my  fortune,  born  to  be 

A  brother  to  the  Western  Sea. 

The  days  unfold  —  I  joy  to  list 
The  songs  of  bard  and  balladist, 
Whose  chanting  woos  me  with  the  wine 
That  purples  peaceful  Palestine, 
Or  weaves  in  graceful  silhouette 
Tall  tapering  tower  and  minaret; 
Or  tales  of  river,  lake  and  sea 
Set  sapphire-like  by  hill  and  lea, 
Bestrewn  with  garden  hue  and  scent 
From  far-famed  bowers  of  Orient, 
And  echoed  notes  from  dewy  dales 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[42] 

Where  moons  are  wooed  by  nightingales  — 
But  no,  their  perfect  portraiture 
Enchants,  but  has  no  power  to  lure 
My  faithful  heart,  content  to  be 
A  dweller  by  the  Western  Sea. 

This  my  reward  —  I  breathe  the  air 
Blest  by  Franciscan  praise  and  prayer, 
Made  holier  still  by  silver  swell 
From  many  a  dulcet  Mission  bell ; 
I  have  my  northern  snow-capped  peaks, 
From  whose  grand  heights  fair  Nature  speaks 
To  ocean,  valley,  plain,  and  calls 
Afar  to  wondrous  waterfalls ; 
I  have  my  skies  of  sunset  gold, 
Dream-fields  where  poppy  leaves  unfold, 
And  hammock-swung  'twixt  pine  and  palm 
Life  runneth  as  a  song-set  psalm ; 
Time  drifting  goes  —  each  year  anew 
Still  finds  me  constant,  loyal,  true, 
And  more  and  more  content  to  be 
A  dreamer  by  the  Western  Sea. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[43] 
California  Skies 

California  skies ! 

Balm  for  the  eyes ! 

Where  orange  groves  or  redwoods  rise ; 

By  Shasta's  snow,  Diego's  sand 

Or  old  Diablo's  dream-set  land ; 

By  San  Francisco  Bay  so  blue, 

Or  down  some  cypress  avenue 

Near  Monterey;  by  lake  Sierra-rimmed, 

Or  yet  afar  in  valleys  vineyard-trimmed ; 

On  plain  where  Ceres  waves  her  wand, 

Or  where  Pomona  fond 

And  all  her  train  in  foothill  orchards  drowse 

Under  low-bending  boughs  — 

Look  up ! 

And  from  the  turquoise  cup 

Drain  dreams  and  rest ! 

Ah,  none  so  blest 

As  one  who  weary  of  life's  endless  quest 

In  this  fair  meadow  poppy-pillowed  lies 

Day-dreaming  'neath  these  California  skies — 

Balm  for  the  eyes ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[44] 
In  a  Cathedral 

"The  Lord  is  in  His  holy  temple."   I 

Through  Sentence,  Psalter  and  the  Credo  stand, 
With  mind  upon  the  Architect  Who  planned 

These  columned  walls,  this  fane  so  fair,  so  high; 

What  graceful  arabesques,  what  wondrous  dye 
In  windows  fashioned  by  a  Master-hand, 
And  where  in  all  the  world  a  nave  so  grand  — 

This  grove  of  redwoods  reaching  to  the  sky ! 

Hush !  Listen  to  the  Litany  of  leaves 

A-murmur  to  the  breeze  that,  seaward  set, 

Is  bearing  spice  from  canyons  far  above ; 
And  now,  with  sunset-veiling,  Twilight  weaves 
A  purple  altar-cloth,  and  lingers  yet 
The  Nunc  Dimittis  of  a  woodland  dove. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[45] 
A  Casement  Canzonet 

I  know  a  little  window  in  frame  of  ivy  set, 
A  tiny  cottage  casement  clasped  with  emerald 

amulet ; 
And  looking  through  this  window  you  see  a 

garden  old — 
Petunia,  dahlia,  mullein-pink,  and  rose  and 

marigold. 

But  oh,  this  little  window  with  ivy  curtains 

hung, 
I  would  my  sweetest  singing  might  in  praise  of 

it  be  sung ! 
For,  looking  through  this  window,  a  world  of  joy 

is  mine  — 
Dreams,  visions,  hopes  and  fantasies,  all  golden, 

all  divine ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[46] 
Mountain  Haze 

The  purple  shadow  of  an  angel's  wing 

Is  flung  across  the  range,  and  softly  creeps 
Adown  the  mountain-side ;  the  rocky  steeps 

Are  blurred  with  veils  of  amethyst  that  fling 

Their  filmy  folds  'round  barren  spots  that  cling 
To  jagged  slopes ;  the  yawning  canyon  keeps 
Fond  tryst  with  Dusk,  the  windless  forest  sleeps, 

With  naught  save  one  faint,  long  line  lingering. 

So,  when  the  angel-shadow  falls  on  me, 

And  from  Life's  landscape  I  am  blotted  out, 

Ne'er  to  return  to  my  accustomed  place, 
In  Memory's  haze  let  my  shortcomings  be 
Concealed,  forgotten,  but  may  no  one  doubt 
That  I  the  line  of  beauty  sought  to  trace. 


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[47] 
Nectar 

In  a  golden  bowl  I  brew 

Leaf  of  rose  and  violet  dew, 

And  the  essences  of  things 

Natal  to  Pierian  springs  : 

Bird-song,  brook-song,  breeze  a-blow, 

Sweets  that  in  dream-gardens  grow ; 

Spray  that  leaped  the  harbor  bar 

Amorous  of  the  twilight  star ; 

Bubbles  of  delight  that  float 

From  a  seraph's  liquid  note ; 

Bloom  from  Joy's  low-bending  bough ; 

Cupid,  drop  a  kiss  —  and  now, 

Sweetheart,  here 's  a  health  to  thee, 

Drink  the  draught,  Sweetheart,  with  me ! 


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[48] 
The  Way  to  the  Violet  Hills 

The  guide-posts  are  a  song,  a  rose, 
The  star  that  marks  the  daylight's  close, 
The  crescent  moon,  or  hreeze  that  blows 
From  valleys  where  the  dream-flower  grows. 

Adown  the  lane  of  lover's  eyes, 

On  through  the  gates  of  glad  surprise, 

Then  up  the  path  of  low  replies  — 

Ah,  hreathe  the  fragrance  Love  distils 
From  out  the  heart  of  the  Violet  Hills ! 


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[49] 
The  Vanished  Voice 

You  slipped  your  Mother-hand  from  mine 

And  went  your  way  with  seraphim, 
But  in  my  heart  your  voice  divine 

Grew  never  dumb,  grows  never  dim ; 
It  leads  me  up  the  Path  of  Dreams 

That  rambles  through  the  Vale  of  Rhyme, 
And  on  and  on  by  silver  streams 

That  haunt  the  Hills  of  Chant  and  Chime. 

Your  voice !   I  hear  it  in  the  call 

Of  woodland  wind  in  redwood  boughs, 
And  in  the  wild-bird  notes  that  fall 

Across  the  field  where  poppies  drowse ; 
And  all  the  sweetness  to  be  found 

In  word  or  tune  my  songs  among 
Is  in  the  dear  and  dulcet  sound 

I  fain  would  echo  of  your  tongue  ! 


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[50] 
An  Elfin  Skein 

A  ripple  through  the  redwoods  ran, 
An  echo  from  a  fairy  clan 

Slipped  down  the  sky; 
And  suddenly  the  groves  began 

To  voice  a  sibylline  reply 
Caught  from  the  mellow  pipes  of  Pan, 

Now  far,  now  nigh. 

A  Mystery  enrobed  in  mist, 
With  girdle  set  with  amethyst 

And  sapphires  three, 
Came  down  the  hill-path,  twilight-kissed, 

Crept  softly  to  my  trysting  tree  ; 
It  caught  and  held  me  by  the  wrist, 

And  spoke  to  me  : 

Tonight  the  elfin  skein  is  spun ; 
Ere  vigil  of  the  moon  is  done, 

The  mesh  we  wind 
Round  redwood  circles,  every  one, 

And  mortals  whom  therein  we  bind 
Shall  at  the  dawning  of  the  sun 

Great  gladness  find." 

I  slipped  into  a  redwood  ring ; 
The  Mystery  took  sudden  wing, 

And  down  the  glade 
I  heard  the  fauns  and  dryads  sing 
Chant,  madrigal  and  serenade, 


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[51] 

And  then  —  it  was  so  strange  a  thing ! 
I  felt  them  fade ! 


I  woke,  sun  kissed,  and  gossamer 
Spun  by  some  moonlit  messenger 

Bedecked  my  bed ; 
I  hardly  dared  to  breathe  or  stir, 

So  deftly  was  the  fiber  spread  — 
I,  Fortune's  happy  prisoner, 

Held  by  a  thread ! 

I  must  not  break  the  magic  spell 
Revealing  what  great  joy  befell ; 

But  oh,  I  fain 
Would  wish  that  all  the  world  might  dwell 

One  night  within  that  sweet  domain, 
And  wake  to  love,  as  I  love  well, 
An  elfin  skein ! 


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[52] 
The  Golden  Legacy 

My  mother  had  no  gold  to  share, 

Nor  land,  nor  herd,  nor  merchandise  — 
(My  brother  has  her  silken  hair, 

My  sister  has  her  azure  eyes!) 
To  me  she  left  no  comeliness 

That  to  the  form  or  face  belong, 
But  oh,  one  gift  I  do  possess, 

The  blessed  heritage  of  song ! 

Long,  long  ago  in  cradle  days 

Her  sweet  voice  would  my  heart  beguile, 
When  I  could  nothing  do  but  gaze 

Into  the  heaven  of  her  smile ! 
I  learned  the  songs  in  later  years 

And  with  her  sang  them  o'er  and  o'er  — 
O  Memory,  thy  lute  and  tears 

Must  meet  and  mingle  evermore ! 

T  was  ff  Hush,  my  babe,"—  as  fades  the  light 

I  hear  her  softly,  sweetly  croon, — 
Then  "Afton  Water,"  "Stilly  Night," 

"  Sanctissima,"  and  "  Silver  Moon  "; 
She  sang  them  with  such  tender  art, 

The  art  that  only  mothers  know, 
And  tied  the  tunes  around  my  heart, 

Else  it  had  broken  long  ago ! 


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[53] 
To  a  New  Acquaintance 

You  speak  my  name  and  I  speak  yours,  and  up 
The  curtain  goes.   What  is  the  play  to  be  — 

Like  to  a  draught  of  nectar,  or  the  cup 

That  Hate  drains  from  the  deadly  upas  tree  ? 

You  take  my  hand  and  I  take  yours,  the  song 
Begins,  our  duo  in  the  scheme  of  life ; 

What  will  the  cadence  he  —  full,  sweet  and  strong, 
Or  poor  and  thin,  with  jar  and  discord  rife  ? 

We  look  into  each  other's  eyes,  a  light 

Is  born  —  would  we  might  read  on  Time's  dim 
scroll 

If  it  be  born  to  flicker  for  a  night, 

Or  brighten  into  Friendship's  aureole ! 


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[54] 
The  Necklace 

Hand-clasped  with  dreams,  I  sought  both  far  and  near 

For  jewels  for  the  chain; 
Hand-clasped  with  dreams,  no  task  was  too  severe 

Or  could  my  steps  detain. 

I  found  one  stone  within  a  steadfast  star, 

Another  in  a  rose, 
One  lay  beneath  a  deep-set,  moaning  bar 

Where  beat  a  tide  of  woes. 

Some  passed  to  me  from  out  an  angel's  hand, 

Some  from  a  dreamland  tree, 
And  one  day,  walking  in  an  alien  land, 

A  stranger  gave  me  three ! 

Close-hidden  in  a  tear-dewed  violet 

I  found  a  priceless  prize ; 
My  fairest  gem  reflects  the  love-light  set 

Within  a  dear  one's  eyes. 

And  now,  the  jewels  burnished,  golden-bound, 

For  me  their  charm  diffuse 
In  rarest  rainbow  gleams  that  glow  around 

The  white  throat  of  my  Muse ! 


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[55] 
A  Lyric  for  a  Lute 

Bring  the  lute  at  vespertide, 
Ope  the  sunset  casement  wide, 
Let  the  breath  from  locust  boughs 
Blow  across  our  weary  brows, 
While  the  daytime's  vague  unrest 
Still  shall  lie  on  Evening's  breast, 
Hushed  by  tones  that  softly  slip 
From  thy  dulcet  lute  and  lip. 

Bring  the  lute  at  vespertide, 
Let  the  songs  be  true  and  tried, 
Olden  themes  and  olden  lays, 
Tender  tunes  of  bygone  days ; 
Let  them  quaver,  fall  and  rise 
Through  the  faintly  star-set  skies, 
Echoing  the  bells  that  chime 
In  the  ivy  towers  of  Time. 

Bring  the  lute  at  vespertide, 
Lo,  a  Spirit  by  our  side, 
Crowned  with  mingled  rose  and  rue, 
Dim  with  dusk  and  damp  with  dew  — 
Memory !  Oh,  sing,  and  so 
We  will  restward  gently  go, 
Drifting  down  Sleep's  silver  streams 
To  the  peaceful  Port  of  Dreams. 


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[56] 
A  Little  Love-Song 

My  heart,  my  heart 's  a  bonny  bird 
That  carols  songs  the  sweetest  heard ; 
My  heart,  my  heart 's  a  fountain  fair 
That  sparkles  in  the  golden  air ; 
My  heart 's  a  rosy-raptured  rhyme 
That  echoes  to  the  glad  Spring-time. 

My  heart,  my  heart 's  a  bud  a-bloom 
That  lights  with  love  a  greenwood  gloom ; 
My  heart,  my  heart 's  a  silver  star 
That  throws  its  beams  afar,  afar ; 
My  heart 's  a  canticle  divine  — 
And  all  because  your  heart  is  mine  ! 


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[57] 
When  You  Come  Home 

What  golden  suns  will  gild  the  happy  skies, 
What  incense  from  the  meadow  altars  rise, 
What  hymns  fill  all  the  groves  with  glad  surprise- 
When  you  come  home ! 

How  Memory-hells  will  softly  ring  and  rhyme 
Amid  the  dear  old  ivied  towers  of  Time, 
As  arm  in  arm  we  listen  to  their  chime  — 
When  you  come  home ! 

At  Joy's  bright  festal  board  shall  we  sit  down, 
And  Mirth  and  Music,  each  with  myrtle  crown, 
Will  drive  away  the  tear,  the  sigh,  the  frown  — 
When  you  come  home  ! 

Suspense  will  quickly  change  to  calm  content, 
Desire  with  rare  fulfilment  will  be  blent, 
And  meeting  be  one  long,  sweet  sacrament  — 
When  you  come  home ! 


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[58] 
Angel  Lore 

Great  was  Ms  joy  and  great  his  glad  surprise, 
When  to  a  Seraph,  new  in  Paradise, 

Sandalphon  beckoned,  and  into  his  ear 

Spoke  thus,  in  measure  sweet  and  calm  and  clear: 

"  From  one  far  world  where  never  yet  was  heard 
The  speech  of  man  or  sea  or  wind  or  hird, 

A  voiceless  earth,  an  orh  in  toneless  air  — 
From  that  sad  people  there  has  come  a  prayer, 

A  prayer  so  simple  and  yet  so  profound  — 
A  pleading  for  the  hlessed  gift  of  sound ! 

An  answer  to  that  plea  I  now  confer, 
And  thee  I  choose  as  its  interpreter ! " 

The  Angel  wept  and  low  obeisance  made, 
Sandalphon's  hand  upon  his  head  was  laid  — 

"  Fly  to  that  star,  on  pinions  fresh  and  strong, 
And  slay  that  virgin  silence  with  a  song ! " 

The  Angel  rose,  and,  smiling  through  his  tears, 
Went  singing  down  the  pathway  of  the  Spheres. 


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[59] 
Lay 

If  I  were  to  send  thee  roses, 
They  would  wither  and  decay, 

Beauty  not  for  long  reposes 
From,  her  hower  torn  away. 

Or  perchance  if  I  should  send  thee 

In  a  golden  cage  a  dove, 
Mute  might  be  its  song,  nor  lend  thee 

E'en  an  echo  of  my  love. 

So  instead  of  bird  or  flower 
I  would  send  a  simple  lay  — 

Let  it  charm  thy  brightest  hour 
And  bedeck  thy  darkest  day. 


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[60] 
A  Pilgrim  Song 

Sandal-shoon  and  scallop-shell, 
Tell  me,  where  does  Fancy  dwell  ? 

Up  the  pathway  of  the  moon, 
Or  adown  the  dewy  dell 
Wherein  Puck  and  Ariel 

Dance  a  merry  rigadoon? 
Come,  you  know  the  spot  full  well, 
Sandal-shoon  and  scallop-shell! 

Scallop-shell  and  sandal-shoon, 
Is  it  o'er  yon  dim  lagoon? 

Or  in  haunts  of  shy  gazelle, 
Where  the  starlit  waters  croon, 
And  the  lilies  sway  and  swoon 

To  the  voice  of  Philomel  ? 
Oh,  but  hring  me  thither  soon, 
Scallop-shell  and  sandal-shoon ! 

Sandal-shoon  and  scallop-shell, 
Listen,  't  is  the  vesper  bell ! 

Ever  since  the  hour  of  noon 
I  have  waited  for  that  knell ; 
Come,  be  gracious,  and  dispel 

Daylight's  doubt,  and  grant  the  boon 
That  we  couch  in  Fancy's  cell  — 
Sandal-shoon  and  scallop-shell ! 


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[61] 
In  a  Mission  Garden 

(Santa  Barbara) 

Stand  here,  and  watch  the  wondrous  birth  of  Dreams 
From  out  the  Gate  of  Silence.    Time  and  Tide, 
With  fingers  on  their  lips,  forever  hide 

In  large-eyed  wonderment,  where  Thoughts  and 
Themes 

Of  days  long  flown  pass  down  the  slumbrous  streams 
To  ports  of  Poet-land  and  Song-land.    Side 
By  side  the  many-colored  Visions  glide, 

And  leave  a  wake  where  Fancy  glows  and  gleams. 

And  then  the  bells !    One  stands  with  low-bowed 

head 
While  list'ning  to  their  silver  tongues  recite 

The  sweet  tale  of  the  Angelus  —  there  slips 
A  white  dove  low  across  the  tiling  red  — 

And  as  we  breathe  a  whispered, fond  "Good  night," 
A  ffPax  Vobiscum"  parts  the  Padre's  lips. 


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[62] 
In  a  Pergola 

Far  in  the  west  the  glory  of  the  day 

Fades  o'er  a  redwood  forest  banked  hy  hills 

Wherein  a  fairy  sisterhood  distils 
The  dew  of  dreams  in  valleys  twilight-gray. 
Come,  dew  of  dreams,  drift  hitherward  we  pray, 

Sweet  anodyne  for  grief  and  kindred  ills, 

A  benediction  on  the  dusk  that  fills 
This  garden  where  dim  ghosts  of  memory  stray. 

Through  paths  of  poppy,  palm  and  eglantine 
They  move  in  long  processional  and  slow, 

With  smile  and  nod  and  kissing  of  their  hands, 
Then  disappear  in  one  long,  sinuous  line 
Where  through  the  purple  of  the  afterglow 
A  white  star  beckons  toward  elysian  lands. 


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[63] 
A  Legend  of  the  Madonna 

Out  of  holy  Bethlehem 

Into  Egypt  flying, 
Herod's  hate  pursuing  them, 

Dangers  multiplying, 
Hastened  through  the  country  wild 
Joseph,  Mary  and  The  Child. 

When  some  distance  they  had  passed, 

Worn  and  weary  growing, 
Came  they  to  a  field  at  last 

Where  a  man  was  sowing 
Seed  of  corn  in  fertile  ground  — 
Mary's  heart  gave  sudden  bound, 

To  the  husbandman  she  said : 
w  If  men  bid  you  aid  them, 

Asking  if  this  way  we  fled, 

With  your  tongue  persuade  them, 

Saying:  ? Yes,  they  passed  at  morn 

On  the  day  I  sowed  this  corn.' " 

Then,  a  miracle,  behold  ! 

While  the  man  was  sleeping, 
All  the  field  was  turned  to  gold 

Ready  for  the  reaping, 
Stalk  and  blade  and  ear  were  there 
Gleaming  in  the  sunlit  air ! 


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[64] 

Came  the  men  by  Herod  sent, 

Spied  the  man,  and  roughly 
Riding  through  the  corn,  they  went, 

Calling  to  him  gruffly : 
"  Has  an  old  man  passed  this  way 
With  a  wife  and  child?"  "Come,  say?" 

And  the  man,  o'er-whelmed  with  awe, 
Viewed  his  field  and  wondered  .  .  . 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "those  three  I  saw." 
"  How  long  since  ?  "  they  thundered  — 

"  When  I  sowed  this  corn  " —  and  then, 

Homeward  rode  King  Herod's  men. 


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[65] 
A  Song  of  Far  and  Near 

When  in  hours  relentless 

Far  from  thee  I  fare, 
All  the  fields  are  scentless, 

All  the  boughs  are  bare ; 
Skies  are  lone,  forsaken, 

Sailless  is  the  sea, 
Pain  and  grief  awaken  — 

Faring  far  from  thee. 

When  in  hours  enravished 

Close  by  thee  I  bide, 
Joy  seems  to  have  lavished 

All  her  charms  world-wide ; 
Perfume,  stmg  and  sweetness, 

Color  and  embrace 
Blend  in  one  completeness  — 

Gazing  on  thy  face  ! 


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[66] 
How  Steep  the  Stairs! 

How  steep  the  stairs  that  lead  to  fame  — 

How  steep  the  stairs  ! 
To  pilgrims  weary,  heart-sick,  lame, 
Who  journey  toward  that  distant  flame 
Where  glisten  glory,  power,  name, 

How  steep  the  stairs ! 

How  steep  the  stairs  that  lead  to  love  — 

How  steep  the  stairs ! 
That  slender  ladder  fashioned  of 
The  purity  of  altar-dove, 
That  leads  to  highest  heaven  above  — 

How  steep  the  stairs ! 

How  steep  the  stairs  that  lead  to  God  — 

How  steep  the  stairs ! 
For  seeds  that  strive  to  pierce  the  sod, 
For  children  smarting  'neath  the  rod, 
For  feet  with  sin  and  sorrow  shod, 

How  steep  the  stairs ! 


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A 


[67] 

* 

Dream  Chimes 

Somewhere  along  the  road  that  I  am  climbing 
I  know  that  bells  are  ringing  blithe  and  sweet ; 

I  hear  them  in  my  dreams  so  gently  chiming, 
And  hasten  on  with  glad,  expectant  feet. 

I  wonder  are  they  set  within  a  steeple, 
Or  are  they  hung  beside  a  palace  gate  ? 

And  will  they  ring  for  crowds  of  kindred  people, 
Or  just  for  me  alone,  and  soon,  or  late  ? 

In  day-dreams,  too,  I  hear  them  faintly,  faintly, 

As  if  a  fairy  bevy  rang  the  chimes ; 
And  down  into  my  heart  they  steal  so  quaintly, 

And  weave  their  melodies  into  my  rhymes. 

Sometimes  they  play  a  measure  so  alluring, 
Of  laurel  and  wild  olive  crown  I  dream ; 

I  wake  —  the  dusty  road  !    New  faith  procuring, 
I  follow,  as  Sir  Galahad  the  gleam ! 

Perhaps  they  sound  across  a  valley  vernal, 
Perchance  far  up  a  rugged  mountainside ; 

Ofttimes  they  ring  with  rapture  so  supernal 
It  seems  as  if  in  heaven  they  must  abide ! 

Sometime,  somewhere,  I  know  that  I  shall  meet  them 
And  plainly  hear  them  play  the  dear,  old  themes ; 

And  with  what  joy  my  swelling  soul  will  greet  them — 
Those  bells  of  hope  that  chime  adown  my  dreams ! 


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[68] 
Rosemary 

The  day  is  fair  with  golden  glow,  song  stirs  the 

brooklet's  lip, 
And  down  the  leafy  avenues  gay  swallows  dart  and 

dip; 
A  balmy  odor  scents  the  air,  soft  winds  low-laden 

bring 
The  breath  of  violets  —  and  yet,  one  cannot  help 

remembering ! 

The  lamps  are  lit,  the  blazing  fire  paints  fancies  on 
the  floor, 

Close  by  the  hearth  I  sit  and  hold  a  book  of  poet- 
lore; 

I  part  the  curtains,  peaceful  stars  their  benediction 
bring, 

Across  the  sea  the  moon  —  and  yet,  one  cannot  help 
remembering ! 


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[69] 
The  Praise  of  Hope 

Believe  me,  truly 't  was  not  I 

Who  sang  that  Hope  did  ever  seem 
Like  saddest  singing  in  a  dream  — 

Believe  me,  truly  't  was  not  I, 

Because  for  me  the  song  of  Hope 
Is  bright  as  harp  tones  of  Apollo ; 

I  hear  it  up  life's  laureled  slope : 
"  Oh,  follow,  follow,  follow ! " 

Believe  me,  truly 't  was  not  I 

Who  sang  that  Hope  did  ever  seem 
Like  faded  flowers  in  a  dream  — 

Believe  me,  truly 't  was  not  I, 

Because  for  me  the  flower  of  Hope 

Blooms  on  each  hill  and  down  each  hollow, 

And  lured  hy  fragrance  up  life's  slope 
I  follow,  follow,  follow ! 


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[70] 
The  Evening  Star 

Whene'er  I  see  the  evening  star 
My  thoughts  fly  far  away  to  you  — 

Thank  God,  there  is  no  han  or  bar 
To  what  a  loving  thought  may  do, 

Though  hands  and  lips  must  oft  forego 

The  dear  delights  that  lure  them  so ! 

Whene'er  the  evening  star  appears 

Before  my  raptured  sight, 
A  veil  falls  from  mine  eyes  and  ears, 

I  see  and  hear  aright ; 
Thank  God  for  memory  that  brings 
Close  to  the  heart  the  dearest  things ! 

The  evening  star  —  I  cannot  tell 

Wherein  its  magic  lies; 
Thank  God,  it  nightly  deigns  to  dwell 

Within  these  lonesome  skies ; 
And  ever  may  the  fair  star  be 
A  mizpah-light  for  you  and  me ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[71] 
The  Willow  Stream 

A  wondrous  wealth  of  flower  and  fern, 

Sequestered  nooks  at  every  turn, 

And  pools  with  tiny  caves  and  dens 

Enfolding  timid  citizens ; 

A  stream  from  out  whose  ports  of  gloom 

Float  argosies  of  lotus  bloom, 

And  arched  with  trees  whose  branches  wide 

Drop  melodies  adown  the  tide  — 

The  tuneful  branches  whereupon 

Were  hung  the  harps  of  Babylon ! 

Today  these  willow  boughs  are  hung 

With  instruments  more  deftly  strung  — 

The  fairy  viol,  lyre  and  lute, 

The  elfin  horn  and  fife  and  flute,  ,  j 

And  sweeter  still  the  pipes  of  Pan 

Soft  pressed  by  lips  Eolian  — 

An  orchestra  that  seems  to  be 

In  league  with  gay  Terpsichore 

To  which  the  leaves  all  afternoon 

Are  dancing  reel  and  rigadoon. 

Beside  the  willow-bowered  stream 

How  soon  come  dusk  and  dew  and  dream ! 

Through  interwoven  shine  and  shade 

I  hear  a  night  bird's  serenade ; 

A  note  falls  on  a  ripple's  breast 

So  gently  soothing  it  to  rest ; 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[72] 

And  lo,  the  Lady  Moon  in  white 
Draws  back  the  curtain  of  the  night, 
And  with  a  kiss  awakes  a  star  — 
How  still  the  stream  and  willows  are ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[73] 
A  Rainbow  Fancy 

A  seven-fold  psalm  of  rapture  spread  along  Heaven's 

vaulted  aisle, 
And  all  because  a  Tear  had  told  its  sorrow  to  a 

Smile. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[74] 
Water,  Leaf  and  Wing 

Tell  me  of  a  fairer  thing 
Than  the  water,  leaf  and  wing 
Unbound  in  the  early  spring  ! 

Water  from  the  springs  that  sleep 
In  the  hillsides  dark  and  deep, 
Singing  in  its  silver  flight 
Down  the  Valley  of  Delight. 

Leaf  that  lifts  an  emerald  eye 
To  the  turquoise-tinted  sky, 
Hearkening  that  it  may  hear 
Flora's  footfall  drawing  near. 

Wing  of  hutterfly  and  hird, 
Air  with  rainbow  colors  blurred, 
Wing  of  dragonfly  and  bee 
O'er  the  honey-laden  lea  — 

Tell  me  of  a  fairer  thing 
Than  the  water 9  leaf  and  wing 
Unbound  in  the  early  spring  I 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[75] 
A  Rhyme  Rose 

I  fain  would  send  thee  dew-wet  flowers  —  too  far 

apart  we  bide, 
Thou  on  the  strand  that  greets  the  dawn,  I  by  the 

sundown  tide ; 

So,  up  the  ladder  of  my  dreams  a  Romeo,  I  climb 
And  to  thy  open  casement  bear  a  little  rose  of  rhyme. 

Its  petals  gleam,  its  inmost  heart  a  scent  divine 
exhales  — 

It  bloomed  within  a  bower  hung  with  nests  of 
nightingales ! 

But  oh,  to  wed  it  to  thy  lute,  and  some  sweet  vesper- 
time 

To  tell  thee  all  the  rapture  of  this  little  rose  of 
rhyme! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[76] 
Via  Crucis 

The  vision  of  dawn  is  leisure, 
But  the  truth  of  day  is  toil. 

The  sun  comes  up  like  a  great,  red  rose, 
The  perfume  over  the  wide  world  blows, 
And,  oh,  to  walk  in  the  pathways  fair 
With  the  rose-trimmed  beds  and  scented  air, 
And  far  at  the  garden's  end  a  nook 
With  You  and  a  poet's  dream-set  book ! 

The  sun  goes  down  like  a  great  red  fire, 
And  dies  in  ashes  of  vain  desire, 
For  my  pathway  lay  outside  the  wall 
That  girdled  You  and  the  roses  tall, 
And  my  footprints  show  a  deeper  red 
And  a  crown  of  thorn  is  on  my  head ! 

Yet  the  vision  stays  with  me  all  day, 
Sweet  solace  along  the  rough  highway, 
Till  the  nails  of  Toil  and  spear  of  Want, 
Grief's  bitter  cup  and  the  jeer  and  taunt 
Are  touched  by  Sleep,  and  You  softly  glide 
Where  I,  with  the  dream,  am  crucified ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[77] 
A  Day  of  Days 

Within  the  calendar  of  life 

Of  every  human  heart, 
There  shines  a  day  with  beauty  rife, 

That  stands  alone,  apart  — 
Distinct  from  other  times  and  tides, 

The  sorrowful  or  gay, 
With  Memory  it  ever  bides, 

A  rose-crowned,  perfect  day. 

No  matter  if  fast  fades  the  gold 

Of  other  morns  to  gray, 
And  angel  hands  may  not  have  rolled 

The  stone  of  grief  away  — 
Bright  shining  through  life's  fond  regret, 

Through  cloud  and  tearful  haze, 
Love's  golden  sun  has  never  set 

Upon  that  day  of  days. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[78] 
The  Golden  Age 

The  golden  age  of  golden  dream  — 

Oh,  for  the  laureled  brow 
When  music  laded  every  stream 

And  burdened  every  bough ! 

The  golden  age  of  golden  rhyme  — 
Oh,  for  the  tongue  of  flames 

When  poesy  was  in  its  prime 
And  nightingales  had  names ! 

The  golden  age  of  golden  lyre  — 

Oh,  for  the  subtle  string 
When  love  was  wooed  by  heart's  desire 

And  song  first  heard  of  spring ! 

The  golden  age !   The  golden  source 
Whence  dew  of  thought  had  birth  — 

Turn,  cycles,  in  your  heavenly  course 
And  bring  it  back  to  eartn ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[79] 
Afternoon  Callers 

The  summer  leaves  were  overheard  to  say : 
"  My !  What  a  dreary,  dull  and  stupid  day ! " 
(  Enter  Sir  Whiff,  Prince  Zephyr,  Baron  Breeze,) 
My !  What  a  merry  chatter  in  the  trees ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[80] 
A  California  Psalm 

I  lifted  up  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills 

Where  fair  Los  Gatos  like  a  lovely  gem 
Is  set  in  California's  diadem ; 

The  sky  was  wreathed  with  sunset  daffodils, 

And  honey-dew  that  twilight  hour  distils 
Lay  on  the  poppy  fields  and  wet  the  hem 
Of  Evening's  robe,  who  softly  sang  to  them 

A  slumber  song  of  Dreamland  vales  and  rills. 

Unto  the  hills  I  lifted  up  mine  eyes 

As  one  who  seeks  some  guerdon  or  reward, 
And  lo  !  into  my  heart  of  hearts  there  crept 

The  grateful  balm  that  weary  mortals  prize  — 
The  help  that  cometh  even  from  the  Lord, — 
And,  gazing  long,  I  ceased  to  gaze,  and  slept. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[81] 
The  Things  That  Count 

Not  what  we  have,  but  what  we  use ; 
Not  what  we  see,  but  what  we  choose  — 
These  are  the  things  that  mar  or  bless 
The  sum  of  human  happiness. 

The  things  near  by,  not  things  afar ; 
Not  what  we  seem,  but  what  we  are  — 
These  are  the  things  that  make  or  break, 
That  give  the  heart  its  joy  or  ache. 

Not  what  seems  fair,  but  what  is  true  ; 
Not  what  we  dream,  but  good  we  do  — 
These  are  the  things  that  shine  like  gems, 
Like  stars,  in  Fortune's  diadems. 

Not  as  we  take,  but  as  we  give ; 
Not  as  we  pray,  but  as  we  live  — 
These  are  the  things  that  make  for  peace, 
Both  now  and  after  Time  shall  cease. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[82] 
The  Language  of  Love 

A  speech  defying  all  the  arts  and  crafts  of  tongue 

or  pen, 
And  yet  the  universal  speech  of  angels  and  of  men. 


I  A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[83] 
The  Singing  Wind 

Today  the  singing  wind  blows  straight 

From  o'er  pacific  seas ; 
It  wafts  a  boat  with  precious  freight, 

This  wonder-laden  breeze  — 
A  shallop  whose  white  wings  enfold 
Dim  dreams  of  argonauts  and  gold ! 

Today  the  singing  wind  floats  by 

In  blue  and  gold  and  green, 
Turquoise  of  California  sky, 

The  poppy's  yellow  sheen, 
The  redwood's  tinge,  hope's  hue  divine, 
That  decks  these  natal  groves  of  mine ! 

Today  the  singing  wind  is  fraught 

With  scent  of  inner  shrines, 
The  incense  of  a  fair  love-thought 

That  round  heaven's  lattice  twines  — 
Oh,  singing  wind,  my  soul  you  stir 
With  perfumed  memories  of  Her ! 

She,  whom  to  know  was  raptured  bliss, 

To  lose  was  sorrow  sore  — 
Oh,  mother  mine,  I  feel  thy  kiss, 

I  feel  thine  arms  once  more ! 
See,  singing  wind,  how  thy  blest  art 
Has  waked  the  lute-strings  of  my  heart ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[84] 
An  Old  Guitar 

I  picked  it  up  in  northern  Spain, 

This  "Relic  of  the  rosy  reign 

Of  Francis  First  or  Charlemagne." 

(So  read  the  sign.) 
In  woeful,  stringless  dishabille 
It  made  such  fervent,  mute  appeal 
That  on  the  spot  I  closed  the  deal 

That  made  it  mine. 

It  does  not  very  kindly  take 

To  these  six  strings  of  modern  make, 

And  yet  it  is  not  hard  to  wake 

Its  voice  to  song, 

The  voice,  perchance,  that  helped  to  seal 
The  fate  of  fair  Blanche  of  Castile 
When  Thibault  with  designing  zeal 

Sang  low  and  long. 

This  tracery  of  tortoise  shell 

If  it  could  speak  might  softly  tell 

How  many  bosoms  rose  and  fell 

With  questionings ; 
These  ivory  keys  recall  the  touch 
Of  fingers  trembling  over  much 
Because  of  Master  Cupid's  clutch 

At  other  strings! 

It  may  be  that  some  swarthy  Moor 
Or  gentle,  love-sick  Troubadour 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[85] 

Oft  used  these  frets  to  reassure 

His  lady  fair ; 

Immortal  Villon  may,  perchance, 
Have  strummed  the  strings  to  gay  romance, 
Some  neat  ballade  of  ancient  France, 

Light,  debonnaire. 

I  joy  to  think  that  Blondel  may 
Have  borne  it  on  his  weary  way 
When  through  long  night  and  lonely  day 

By  mead  and  brine, 
He  sought  his  long-imprisoned  king  — 
How  throbbed  with  mighty  joy  each  string 
When  lo,  at  last  he  heard  him  sing 

At  Diirrenstein ! 

And  now,  here  in  my  studio, 

It  breathes  of  that  sweet  Long  Ago 

When  Beranger,  Ronsard,  Marot, 

Clemence  Isaure  *  *  * 
With  lai  and  chaunt  beloved  so  well 
Wove  wreaths  of  fadeless  asphodel, 
And  garlanded  with  magic  spell 

Their  deathless  lore. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[86] 
The  Unseen  Ships 

Through  seas  more  vast  than  those  of  earth, 
Blown  straight  by  heavenly  wind, 

They  sail  with  freight  of  priceless  worth, 
These  merchantmen  of  mind. 

In  alien  zones,  through  sun  and  cloud, 

With  varied  cargoes  fraught, 
What  intercourse  and  traffic  crowd 

The  argosies  of  thought ! 

Oh,  happy  they  who  walk  the  strand 

Whereon  those  hillows  roll 
Whose  ports  hy  right  divine  command 

The  commerce  of  the  soul. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[87] 
At  Sunset 

Over  the  tired  world  blows 
Breath  of  the  sunset  rose  ; 

Wind  in  the  redwood  trees 
Swept  from  the  sundown  seas; 

Gleam  on  the  hilltop  high 
Caught  from  a  jeweled  sky; 

Dusk  in  the  canyon  deep 
Shed  from  the  wing  of  Sleep ; 

Prayer  in  a  censer  swung, 
Incense  from  heart  and  tongue, 

Dreams  in  a  purple  hoat 
Sailing  from  ports  remote ; 

w  Peace ! "  from  a  seraph  fair 
Floating  through  twilight  air. 


Over  the  tired  world  blows 
Rest  from  the  sunset  rose. 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[88] 
A  Wedding  Song 

Hang  the  walls  with  hranch  and  vine, 

Rifle  glen  and  glade, 
Roses,  do  your  best  to  shine, 

Lilies,  lend  your  aid ; 
Let  the  toast  be  gaily  quaffed, 

Raise  the  potion  high, 
Drop  good  wishes  in  the  draught, 

Drain  the  chalice  dry. 

Strike  the  strings  and  let  us  hear 

Mingle  lute  and  lip, 
Up,  ye  minstrels,  loud  and  clear 

Laud  sweet  fellowship ; 
"Wherefore  all  this  glad  array  ? 

Oh,  for  very  joy ! 
Cupid  is  our  guest  today, 

Bless  the  precious  boy ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[89] 
Chansonnette 

The  joys  that  we  have  missed  — 

The  broken  tryst, 
The  friends  we  never  knew, 
The  harp  and  lute  unstrung, 

The  songs  unsung  — 
A  little  toast  to  you ! 

The  joys  that  we  have  missed  — 

The  lips  unkissed, 
The  dreams  that  ne'er  came  true, 
The  home-bound  ships  that  sleep 

In  havens  deep  — 
A  little  toast  to  you ! 

The  joys  that  we  have  missed  — 
Life's  unground  grist, 

Hopes  unfulfilled  —  a  few ! 

The  days  and  nights  unwreathed, 
The  love  unbreathed  — 

A  little  toast  to  you ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[90] 
The  Silhouette  City 

(Son  Francisco) 

Against  a  sky  of  rose  and  violet 

The  city's  outline  clearly,  sharply  shows 
Against  a  sky  of  violet  and  rose 

The  shapes  of  turret,  tower  and  minaret ; 

Twin  Peaks,  high  hills  in  dream-repose  are  set, 
Around  whose  heads  the  poppy-zephyr  blows, 
Twin  Peaks,  high  hills  are  set  in  dream-repose 

Where  Occident  and  Orient  have  met. 

And  now  the  skies  have  turned  to  gold  and  green, 
Rare  jewels  hlaze  on  steeple,  spire  and  dome  — 

Far,  far  across  the  deck's  low  rail  I  lean 
And  throw  a  kiss  to  thee,  my  natal  home ! 

Dream  City !   Pilgrim  hearts  alone  can  prize 

Such  precious  halm  for  weary,  homesick  eyes ! 


A  CALIFORNIA 
TROUBADOUR 


[91] 
A  Signal  at  Sea 

"And  there  was  no  more  sea"!    O  Love, 

Let  this  our  grief  beguile, 
An  olive  spray  borne  by  a  dove 

From  far-off  sacred  isle, 
Now  wafted  through  Fate's  iron  bars 

O'er  seas  that  roll  between 
Two  ships  that  sail  'neath  alien  stars 

In  search  of  port  serene. 

Tonight  while  tears  more  thickly  blind 

The  lonely  course  I  steer, 
I  fling  this  message  to  the  wind 

That  haply  you  may  hear  — 
O  Love,  though  joy  be  in  eclipse, 

What  hope  for  you  and  me 
In  that  divine  apocalypse : 

"And  there  was  no  more  sea"! 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 


Renewed  books  are  subject  tc 


JAN2Z^^e 


.     21-100m-6,'56 
(B9311slO)476 


YB  27827 


242447 


mmsBm 


